


Primordial Passion

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-30
Updated: 2008-04-30
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: When he discovers the nature of one of Brian’s new accounts, Justin offers his own special brand of ‘help’…





	Primordial Passion

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

I heard through a very convoluted grapevine (thanks to Brian’s efforts to eradicate all memory of it), that one of his childhood ambitions had been to become a zookeeper. 

 

For anyone else, this would’ve been perfectly normal- after all, what elementary school kid doesn’t dream of one day becoming a zookeeper/ lion tamer/ marine biologist with specialization in dolphins? 

 

But Dr. Brian Kinney-Doolittle? The very suggestion of it made me laugh so hard I nearly had a hernia.

 

To put it delicately, Brian is very much a ‘people person’. A people person, in that he defiantly prefers people over any other walk of life.

 

Personally, I’m convinced that deep down he actually has a phobia of animals- I know for a fact that he’s petrified of squirrels. 

 

One night, we were walking back from Deb’s when a squirrel in a nearby tree decided to make a death-defying leap to a bough just over Brian’s head. 

 

Brian had actually screamed like a five-year old girl and had practically leapt into my arms (He will tell you that it simply ‘startled him’ and he ‘jumped’ a little...) 

 

I had found the fact that Big Bad Brian Kinney was afraid of squirrels to be particularly amusing. However, when I hinted that the story might make a ripping good yarn at the Munchers’ next barbeque, he’d tied me up and rimmed me right up to the ‘trembling puddle of blond boy goo’ stage, refusing to let me cum until I’d sworn, on pain of death, that his secret would follow me to the grave. 

 

But _I_ got the last laugh.

 

The next night, it was me who had the dream about being attacked by rabid flying bat-winged squirrels with laser beams strapped to their heads. In a moment of heroic desperation, my dream-self had realized that the only way to combat the malevolent little buggers was to spit highly corrosive sulphuric acid at them.

 

God, you think Brian would’ve applauded my innate creativity; it’s not like I spat on him that much. And if he hadn’t attempted to pin me facedown on the mattress to prevent me from lobbing any further explosive salvia projectiles, I wouldn’t have bit him…twice.

 

Hissing angrily at me that I’d better not have rabies, Brian had wrapped the sheet around me tightly like a straightjacket and then deposited me on the floor, telling me I could come back when I could prove to him I was not longer possessed by evil urban wildlife. 

 

See? Zoophobia.

 

I was therefore considerably surprised to come home one afternoon to find Brian parked in frount of the T.V., avidly watching what looked like an episode of ‘Animal Kingdom’. 

 

He seemed to be concentrating very deeply as he watched a small black and white skunk/ badger/ rat thing dig holes in a pile of decaying plant matter. Then suddenly, as I watched, a huge T. rex came hurtling into the scene, snapping the little guy up as it squealed out its death cry, and consumed it whole.

 

Shit- natural selection really sucks sometimes.

 

I made my way cautiously to stand behind the back of the couch and watched as the scene changed and a lumbering Stegosaurus came ambling onto the prehistoric plain, its dorsal plates and spiked tail glinting in the Jurassic sunshine.  

 

On the coffee table, I saw the sleeve of the DVD Brian was watching; a rented copy of BBC Video’s ‘Walking with Dinosaurs’. Open on his lap was the ‘viewer’s guide’ to the acclaimed series, the glossy picture illustrating the exact same Stegosaurus which, on the TV screen, was now munching contentedly on some non-descript vegetation. 

 

Fuck- had Brian actually been _following along_?

 

“Y’know,” I commented casually, not exactly sure how to handle the fact that Brian had suddenly and without warning taken up ammeter palaeontology. I decided the best course of action would be to humor him with my seventh grade knowledge of dinosaurs. 

 

“They think the Stegosaurs had two ‘brains’- a small one in the head and another one in the pelvic region.”

 

“Not unlike you,” Brian replied with a smirk, indicating that he wasn’t so intent on his new prehistoric fetish that he hadn’t been aware of my presence. “Only your second brain is a lot closer to your dick.”

 

Without taking his eyes from the screen, he reached up over the back of the couch, put his arm around my neck and pulled me down to him. His attention strayed from the movie for a few seconds as he turned his head and our lips met in an intense kiss. 

 

My ‘second brain’ began ‘thinking’ very happy thoughts.

 

“Brian,” I asked cautiously as he let me up, “why…”

 

“Got a new account,” he interrupted, instinctively knowing what I was about to ask him. “With ‘DinoStee’. They requested an ad agency with some experience in the dinosaur field.” 

 

By some fluke chance, I happened to be familiar with ‘DinoStee’; they were a new software company that specialized in providing educational programs with an emphasis on prehistoric life. 

 

But seriously, _seriously_ , the idea of Brian having ‘experience with dinosaurs’ was laughable- in fact, it was borderline hysterical.

 

“So you naturally told them you were an amateur palaeontologist?” I giggled, “Did you also tell them that you thought ‘ _Ankylosaurus’_ was the medical term for a twisted ankle?” 

 

“Shut it,” Brian moaned tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t want this fucking account- it was unceremoniously shoved upon me. And now I have to sit here and waste a perfectly good evening learning all this dinosaur shit.”

 

“You mean ‘coprolite’,” I corrected intelligently.

 

“What?” Brian asked, sounding as if he wasn’t particularly interested in this new concept. But I had to educate him on _this_ matter if he was going to get anywhere with the account.

 

“Coprolite,” I repeated patiently. “That’s dinosaur shit. Y’know, **T. rex** crement….apparently it can tell you an awful lot about the diet of the **poop** etrator. ” 

 

Without looking away from the screen, Brian snaked his hand out, grabbed the frount of my shirt and hauled me down until I was on a level with his head. Bent awkwardly over the back of the couch, I could only squirm as he plunged his tongue into my ear and began to lick the sensitive skin around it, eliciting that intense tingling, tickling sensation that he knew I found unbearable.

 

When he’d judged by my squealing and thrashing that I had adequately paid for that comment, he put his mouth next to my ear. 

 

“Go. Away.” 

 

Still grinning to myself, I left him watching a herd of Torosaurs sparring and went to the kitchen in search of something edible.

 

Upon reaching my destination, I noticed that Brian had brought home a few prehistoric pals to help alleviate his thirst for a dinosaurian knowledge. 

 

Staring blankly back at me from the counter were five dinosaur models; two Stegosaurs, a Tyrannosaurus, a Triceratops, and a duck-billed dinosaur labelled Parasaurolopus.  

 

It was almost adorable how into this Brian was getting and I began to think that a certain amount of fun may be gleaned from the situation. I picked up the Triceratops and the Tyrannosaurus and examined them more closely. I wondered if Brian wanted to engage in some academic discussion…

 

“Hey, Brian?” (Although he had told me to fuck off, I didn’t think he’d mind if I asked him an intellectual, if somewhat hypothetical, palaeontological question.) “Would you rather have a Triceratops skull frill or T-rex arms?”

 

Brian, apparently taken aback by the question, gazed at me over the back of the couch, looking as if he could actually see the marbles spilling out of my ears and rolling all over the floor. 

 

In case he hadn’t heard the question, I helpfully repeated it, holding up the two models. When he continued to stare at me with that what-the-fuck-are-you-on kind of look, I pressed on.

 

“A frill would be kind of cool- I mean, it would _look_ pretty sweet- but it would really weigh your head down. Speaking of which, _giving_ head with a skull frill might not be too much fun either…” (disturbing mental imagery). “But it would be way better than having teeny T-rex arms.” 

 

I pulled my elbows into my chest, extended my forearms with two fingers on each hand held out, signifying the arms in question. 

 

“I mean, can you imagine trying you brush your hair?” I mimed trying in vain to reach my head with my truncated arms. “Or trying to do the Macarena? - I bet that would make a great party trick…” 

 

Donning an expression of intense frustration and grunting for effect, I mimed trying to do the well-known actions to that particular dance, while simultaneously trying to hum the song. 

 

“But the really terrible thing would be trying to jack-off…”

 

Brian had, unfortunately, chosen that particular moment to take a swig of the red wine he’d been using to ‘help him concentrate’. 

 

The mental image of a T. rex trying to jack-off with its abbreviated forelimbs and only two fingers caused him to spew wine from his nose and mouth in a very good rendition of one of those fountains found in the fine gardens of Europe. 

 

I tried really hard not to laugh at him, knowing how uncomfortable it was to have liquids in your nasal cavity, but I just couldn’t help it.

 

When he’d stopped choking and wine had ceased to spew out of his nose, he looked back at me, smiling sweetly, and then beckoned to me to come closer. I obeyed a bit uneasily, feeling that this would be an excellent opportunity to observe the ‘Personal Space Rule’.

 

“Turn around,” he said, still smiling amiably. I did so and he swatted my ass hard enough to send me stumbling forward. 

 

Righting myself, I turned around grinning and waved my dinosaurian arms in mock indignation. Brian however, was not impressed and informed me sternly that if I uttered so much as a syllable in his presence within the next hour, he would personally gag me and drop me out of his top floor window.

 

“Now go get a towel to clean up this fucking mess,” he ordered, indicating the wine-spattered coffee table. Concealing a smirk with difficulty, I went back to the kitchen to attain the cleaning supplies requested. 

 

As I reached the sink, my attention was again caught by Brian’s Mesozoic miniatures- more specifically, by the two brightly coloured Stegosaurs. 

 

The two dinosaurs, with their attractive dorsal plates and impressive spiky tails, were standing facing each other with what, in my artist’s eye, I interpreted as a heavy, lust filled gaze. 

 

How romantic. 

 

I picked the two up, thinking what a great couple they made and what a beautiful family they could have. But as I was picturing the happy family roaming contentedly across the Jurassic plains, a very serious flaw in my Stegasaurian romance and subsequent procreation theory suddenly occurred to me. 

 

How the fuck did Stegosaurs actually do the nasty? I mean, _think_ about it…

 

I tried to experiment by having Stegosaurus #1 mount Stegosaurs #2 from behind…but there were all those big dorsal plates in the way- not the mention the huge ass spiky tail (which could easily put an abrupt end to one’s sex life if not handled with caution). 

 

So I tried placing Stegosaurus #2 on his/her back and having Stegosaurus #1 climb on top…but wait, didn’t these things weigh several tonnes? 

 

Stegosaurus pancakes, anyone? 

 

There was another problem with this face-to-face approach and that was that the Stegosaur bottoming would be impaled on its own dorsal plates and would be doomed to spend the rest of its life marooned on its back with its legs failing helplessly in the air. Hmm. 

 

Well, goddamn it- dinosaurs had to have been able to do the deed SOMEHOW- I mean, they were around for several hundred million years…

 

I was in the midst of trying to work out a way in which they could somehow do it on their sides when I became aware of a presence behind me. 

 

Looking up from the models, it took my brain less than two seconds to register that the couch was now empty and that Brian had somehow teleported into the immediate vicinity behind me, and had been watching. 

 

I turned my head a fraction of an inch and met his gaze. He was wearing an expression of supreme amusement, eye brow arched, tongue in cheek, a smile playing on his lips. I felt like the biggest, geekiest, most idiotic moron alive.

 

“Having fun with your little friends, Sunshine?” he asked, wrapping his arms around my waist, putting his chin on my shoulder, and looking down at the two Stegosaurs I held frozen in mid-romp. “Are they enjoying themselves?”

 

“I was…umm…” I could feel a red-hot scarlet flush creeping up my neck and into my face. I suddenly wished as if the floor would open and swallow me up. “I mean, I was just trying to work out…”

 

“How dinosaurs fucked?” Brian finished, still wearing the shit-eating grin. “Well, Dr. Grant, would you like a personal demonstration? Your little friends here might learn a thing or two.” 

 

He reached around me and scooped up the remaining three dinosaur models and piled them into my arms, along with the two Stegosaurs. Then he took my shoulders and steered me out of the kitchen.

 

In relatively short order, I found myself lying on my back on the dining room table, relived of my cargos and underwear, watching as Brian lined our five spectators up in such a way that they had a perfect view of everything that was going on. 

 

Of course, Brian and I had preformed in public before, but an audience of atomically correct plastic dinosaur models was a new one for me. When Brian had finished arranging the peanut gallery, he leaned over the table and covered the top half of my body with his, nuzzling my neck. I was very grateful just then that he was not a six tonne Stegosaurus. 

 

Thank God for mass extinctions. 

 

“Now, are you ready to show them how to fuck like dinosaurs?” he growled, biting and sucking on my neck and collarbone, while grinding against me. 

 

I almost laughed because that had sounded _so_ lame, but Brian chose that moment to wrap his fingers firmly around my cock. With the other hand, he began to prepare me, pressing in carefully with his lubed fingers, moving at a tantalizingly slow pace. 

 

I knew he wanted to hear me beg for it and I was more than happy to oblige. At least, it was meant to be begging. It came out- as it always did- as a slew of incomprehensible grunts, whimpers, moans and the odd one syllable word. 

 

But fortunately, Brian was fluent in Horny Justin.

 

He stood up, but continued to work his fingers inside me, causing me to writhe with pleasure and continue my garbled monologue. With one hand, he expertly extracted a condom from the back pocket of his jeans before undoing them and pushing them to his knees. 

 

He preformed his trade mark bit-rip-and-tear on the packet before handing the condom to me. He told me huskily to put it on him.

 

“Brian,” I managed to gasp out, proud of myself for being able to utter the multi-syllable word, “You’ll have to come closer. My stubby little T-rex arms can’t reach that far.”

 

THE END


End file.
